The Immortals
by reaper with no name
Summary: One is a Living Saint, dedicated to the God-Emperor. The other is a psychic Justicar, created from the Emperor's own geneseed. Both are cursed by their immortality and circumstances to a life of solitude. That is, until they meet.


She opened her eyes, and saw Hell.

It wasn't truly Hell, but it might as well have been. The clash of battle had left this place (wherever it was) looking like a death world on gene seed.

Nevertheless, this was where she had been brought. This was where she was needed.

The ash of vegetation and pebbles of what was once a stone bunker distanced themselves from her as white wings of faith unfurled behind her. The brown sky became just a little bit closer.

She floated noiselessly between felled trees and boulders, making her way towards the shouts and explosions.

The first few times this had happened, she had often wondered things such as "Where am I?", "Why am I here?", or "What is going on?". Yet by now she knew better than to consider such things. She was in a place where she was needed. She was here to do His work, and what that work might be would make itself clear shortly. It was all she would ever need to know.

The tops of many of the trees had been burned or severed by artillery fire. Littered along the ground were the corpses of men. The clothing and weapons they carried were primitive. This may have been a feudal world.

The tree line ended up ahead, and beyond it was an expanse of nothingness. Celestine levitated at the top of the cliff and surveyed the thunderous conflict below.

Her first glance told her all she needed to know. The horns and red coloration nearly drove her into a frenzy as she rocketed down the cliff towards the combat. She barely saw the human figures in silver power armor that battled with such ferocity, for they didn't matter. Only the execution of His will mattered.

The four-legged beasts called Flesh Hounds were the first in her path. They were also the first to be purged by the holy fire of the Ardent Blade. The only survivor was cut down in one swing, as her sword cleaved through leathery skin, horn, and bone.

Two Soul Grinders witnessed her approach, and opened fire with weapons of metal fused to flesh. Three rounds missed entirely, and several more glanced off of her holy armor. But the last two struck true, one lodging itself in her right hip, and the other tunneling between her chest and left shoulder.

Celestine barely felt the pain, and began closing in on her quarry. But before she could reach them, a fusillade of cannon fire struck one of the daemons squarely in the chest. It gave a horrid screech and collapsed. The Astartes who fired it moved in to attack the other one.

The silver terminators fought with a ferocity and skill Celestine had never seen before. Grenade, hammer, and even spear descended upon the beast, cutting into its flesh and crushing its metal frame.

Yet it was their singlemindedness that was to be their downfall. From Celestine's vantage point she could see the Bloodletters on half-metallic steeds that raced towards the space marines.

They never stood a chance. Still, they fought, and killed several as they died. She exterminated the rest.

With the chaos of the fighting in a relative lull, she looked over the bodies of those she had witnessed fighting so bravely in His name. Checking for a pulse was unnecessary. Each and every man possessed gaping holes in his body. But on closer inspection, it became clear that this chapter was unfamiliar to her. They carried storm bolters on their wrists, unusual heraldry, and weapons she had never seen before. But their frag grenades seemed to be standard-issue, at least.

Stealing from the dead wasn't something she enjoyed doing, but if it was to fight for the Emperor, she would do it a thousand times over. Supplies were something she rarely came across, after all. They seemed to be out of krak grenades, but she had enough of those for now. It was the frags she needed.

No sooner had she grabbed them that the conflict raged again. The shrieks of Bloodletters and the roar of a Bloodthirster reached her ears. The flames of the Ardent Blade purged most of the Bloodletters, and the few who remained were cut down in a frenzy of swings.

Now all that remained was the winged beast that commanded them. She plunged her blade deep into the monster's belly. But this Bloodthirster was unlike any she had ever faced before. It dropped the oversized whip it held in one hand and grabbed the Ardent Blade, holding it in place. Try as she might, she could not force the sword out of the monster's grasp.

As the daemon raised its enormous battle axe above its head, she wondered if she would die again. No matter. She would gladly die as many times as He required of her. The axe swung downwards.

That was when the impossible happened.

In a single fluid motion, one of the corpses rose and drove his spear straight into the Bloodthirster's knee. Unbalanced, the creature's wild swing missed its mark, thudding into the ground next to Celestine.

With one last expenditure of force, she ripped her sword from the beast's grasp. She drew it back for another strike, but it proved unnecessary, for the mighty Bloodthirster crumbled into dust.

Shocked, she turned back to the man who should have been dead. He was the squad's Justicar, and appeared to be in perfect health (at least as far as she could tell, judging from the lack of blood). Even the hole that had been in his terminator armor was gone. Or was she simply mistaken, and it had never been there to begin with?

"If you needed grenades, you could have just asked," he said.

"I believed you dead," she insisted.

"I was," the space marine replied grimly. "And may be so again soon. Look."

She followed his gaze, and discovered that a large group of Bonecrushers, retreating from more of the silver space marines, were heading straight for them.

An instant later, two Bonecrushers were bathed in holy flame, while two more collapsed from bolter fire.

As the survivors descended upon the two, they readied their weapons. Out of the corner of her eye, Celestine saw what appeared to be lightning course through the Justicar's body as he steeled himself for what was to come. It answered one question, at least.

"You're a psyker?" she said in surprise.

His only response was a short nod.

She snorted in contempt as she turned her attention back to the oncoming daemons. "A psyker is nothing but a servant of Chaos in potentia."

"Pray that you are wrong," he responded as his force halberd pierced a Bloodletter, turning it to dust. "If a Grey Knight can fall to Chaos, what hope is there for anyone else?"

True to his word, the Justicar would die several more times that day. As would she. And every time she awoke, he was there, fighting. She had never met a psyker like him before. Far from being an appetizing meal for daemons, he appeared to repulse them with his very presence.

"What is your name?" she asked as she cut down another daemon.

"Thawn."

* * *

It never ceased to amaze Thawn how many high-quality warriors could come from primitive worlds such as this one. The feudal world Greystar IV was popular for recruitment by both the Adeptus Astartes and the Imperial Guard. So much so, in fact, that it possessed several spaceports. Each one stood out against the greenery of the countryside like a bolt wound. This is what Thawn's squad had come to defend. They were dead now, just like so many before them. Justicar Anval Thawn had long since lost count of how many men he had lost. Yet still they continued to heap honor after honor upon him for getting the mission done. This time would be no different.

With the help of the Saint, he had secured this spaceport. Within twelve hours, reinforcements had arrived to assist in holding it, but there was little need. Between the two of them, there were few, if any, daemons left in the area. Any counterattack by a small group of survivors could be crushed underfoot by the two of them as easily as a training dummy.

Celestine didn't seem to mind the company, however. To her, everything was a sign of the Emperor's will. He found himself envying her unyielding faith in the face of a harsh reality, even as she bade him to follow her through the winding halls of the spaceport.

In time, she led him into a small room with lockers and cracked computer screens. At some point it must have been a security room, but there was nothing secure about it now. The lock on the door had been broken, and though the corpses had long since been removed, the smell of blood still lingered.

"Why are we here?" he asked. The screens showed nothing but static. The room no longer held any defensive purpose.

"Take off your helmet," she instructed. "I want to see your face."

He failed to see the point. Even with his helmet on, her eyes bored through him like a lascannon. Still, for reasons he could not explain, he found himself wanting to grant her request.

"I was right," she said when it was off. An armored gauntlet clattered to the floor, and then her naked hand caressed his forehead, right where the mark of the aquila was. "You do look like Him."

"Like who?"

"Him," she answered. By this point, Thawn had learned that to Celestine, a "Him" without context referred to the Emperor. Still, he didn't understand. Yes, there were some similarities, and it was said that the Grey Knights were created from the Emperor's own geneseed, but to say that he "looked like the Emperor"...

"You are the only one," she said as the sound of more armor pieces falling filled the room. "The only one who is at all like Him, even if only a little."

Before he could ask her to clarify, her lips were touching his. Her words may have made little sense, but this confused him even more. Soon pieces of his armor were on the floor as well. Whether she had removed them or he had done it himself, he could not say.

Before long, he knew what was going on. This was an act he had heard about many times, but never one that he had performed. Astartes had no time for such trivialities. Why, then, was he going along with it?

"Why are we doing this?" he asked as she pulled her breastplate over her head, removing the last piece of armor she wore.

"Because it is His will," she answered as her fingers danced across his skin. "Everything happens for a reason. It was no coincidence that we met here today. Two immortals who must live alone, fighting for the God-Emperor. It is a sign. We were meant to do this." And then her lips were on his again.

She had such faith. Such hope. It was a thing he could never have. He had seen too much, and knew the path this galaxy was on. But then, she suffered just as he did. And yet still she could hold out hope.

He was a Grey Knight. He had been trained to weather the temptations of even the Chaos Gods themselves. He could easily resist her advances if he wanted to.

And yet...

...he didn't want to. The feelings this woman brought out of him were a bulwark against the despair that weighed so heavily upon his heart. It gave him something he could not describe. Was this what they called hope?

When the deed was done, the two donned their armor in silence. Soon enough, they would have to part ways. She would vanish, only to reappear wherever the Emperor needed her most, and he would be picked up by a transport to be brought to wherever he was needed most. This thing they had done, however wondrous, was fleeting.

"It seems I am being called away," Celestine observed, showing him a transparent hand.

"Yes." By now his helmet was back on, but even so she could still read him like a tome.

"We will meet again," she said before fading away completely. "Have faith."

He stood in the room for a moment in quiet contemplation before leaving with something he hadn't possessed in a long time. Whether or not it would last was anyone's guess, but for now, Justicar Anval Thawn had hope for the future.


End file.
